


[REDACTED]

by Robottko



Series: Ghastly Grim [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aliens, Kidnapping, M/M, Pre-Slash, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing John remembered was being shot in the middle of a hot Afghani desert. When he woke up on a cold metal slab in the middle of a sterile, white room, he was more than a little confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day #19: Alien

The last thing John Watson remembered was the hot, sunny desert of Afghanistan; the sounds of gunfire background noise to the shouts of commanding officers. He remembered the hot pierce of a bullet, his entire left shoulder feeling like it was on fire. The last thing John saw before the blackness enveloped him was the panicked face of Private Bill Murray, his lips moving frantically as he reassured John that he was going to be alright, that everything would be okay. That’s why when John woke up on a cold metal table in the middle of a sterile white room, he was more than a little confused.

At first he assumed he was in a hospital, but he realised that he was completely starkers, save for a small piece of linen covering his modesty.  He opened his eyes, lifting his head to glance down at his bare chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw raw, raised flesh, and he turned his head to look at it. The starburst pattern was a familiar enough one, but not one he was accustom to on his own shoulder. He had seen scars like this on other people before, the lasting reminder of a gunshot wound.

Everything came rushing back at once. The fighting, the gunshot, the pain…but then how did he get here, and how was it possible to have a scar that looked to be about a year old already?

John let out a small groan of annoyance, letting his head fall back against the cool steel table and closing his eyes.

“Subject 6745, homo sapiens.” A cool voice said nearby, and John’s eyes opened just in time to see a group of five people standing in front of what John assumed to be a wall, but now was open space that lead to a hallway. He watched as a blank, white wall slid smoothly and silently back into place, completely hiding the hallway from view once more. John couldn’t even see a seam where the door was, just smooth expanse.

“Er…hello, you must be the…ah…doctors?” John asked, his voice rough from disuse. He cleared his throat as he looked at the people garbed in long robes, each a different colour. They were all tall and pale, dark hair cascading from their heads. High cheekbones and strong jaw’s suggested that they all had a common family member, though John wasn’t positive that they _were_ all related. There were similarities, sure, but something about the group indicated that they were merely colleagues, not related at all.

“Patient 6745 has awoken.” One of the ‘doctors’ said, a woman in the back. She was reading what appeared to be a medical chart. “He suffers no long term effects from the localized rebinding. His cognitive processes are nearly at full working order, though some sections of his brain are still warming up from the three day sleep.”

“Three days?” John asked, sitting up. The ‘doctors’ continued to ignore him, chatting about his prognosis.

“To whom does he belong?” A male asked, dark hair sweeping across his eyes.

“Me.” Another doctor swept in, his robes a lovely purple. His hair was curly, not unlike the other doctors, but his eyes made him stand out. While the other ‘doctors’ had average blue eyes, this man had shining blue-green. They were like small galaxies, colours constantly changing and shifting. The other ‘doctors’ seemed to hold this one in great respect, and they hastily backed away from him, heads bent low in what appeared to be reverence. “Homo sapiens, goes by the name of John Watson. He is a medical doctor on earth, intelligent among his race, and considerably brave. I have been watching him for a long time.”

John’s jaw dropped slightly when the ‘doctor’ said his name, then he shook himself, smiling ruefully at his forgetfulness. Of course the ‘doctor’ would know his name.

“Right. Thanks for all the help, but I think I should be fine now.” John said, turning so his legs dangled off the table. Immediately, the light overhead his table that had been shining a nice, yellow went bright red. Startled John looked up, trying to figure out why the light had changed colours.

“That is your vital monitor.” Purple, as John began to think of him, explained patiently. “It has lost the blood flow in your legs. If you could be so kind as to resume your position on the bed.”

“Hardly a bed.” John muttered, swinging his legs back up onto the metal slab, earning a small grin from Purple. The light shifted from red, to green, then finally settling back into its soft yellow once more. He wasn’t entirely sure how a light could measure all his vital signs, but everyone seemed to be a bit nutty, and it appeared that the best option would be to go with the flow.

“Leave us.” Purple said, and the other ‘doctors’ raised their eyebrows. They did not question it, but merely bowed with a murmured reply that John could of sworn was “Yes, your majesty” before leaving the room. Purple turned back to him, eyeing him with obvious interest. “You didn’t take good care of yourself.”

“Pardon?” John spluttered slightly.

“I loathe repeating myself, John.” Purple admonished, moving toward him slowly. “You were supposed to take good care of yourself. You didn’t. You went off to war, and got shot.”

“The shooting wasn’t really my fault, thanks.” John retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, annoyed at the new stiffness in his shoulder.

“But going off to war is.” Purple responded, now circling the table. “You are mine, and you allowed yourself to get hurt. That is not allowed.”

“Yours?” John frowned, keeping an eye on the dark haired man circling him. “I don’t belong to you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go home.”

“No.” Purple snapped. “You’ve done a terrible job taking care of yourself. So I’ll have to do it for you. That’s why I brought you aboard my ship. We are going to _my_ home.”

“Ship?” John laughed. “This isn’t a ship. This is a…I don’t bloody know what it is, but I certainly don’t feel waves or…or whatever.”

“Not your traditional human ship.” Purple rolled his eyes. “I do not come from your planet.”

“Oh?” John rolled his eyes. “You come from somewhere else? Some sort of alien then. What does this have to do with me?”

“I am the prince of the planet Holmes.” Purple smirked. “Twenty years ago I was exploring your galaxy when I discovered your planet. I was drawn to the small island you call Great Britain, where I discovered you. I decided then that you would be mine.”

“You…what?”

“My name is Prince Sherlock.” Purple said, ignoring John’s annoyance. “Welcome home, John.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this day, August 31st, in 1990, a child by the name of Robottko was born. It was decreed that every year on her birthday, she shall update every fanfiction that is a WIP. So, it is with great honor that I present to you this update.

_Twenty years previous_

Sherlock was running away from home, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He had stolen a small pod-ship, and he was at least a thousand mactons away from Holmes when he got a call from his mother.

“Sherlock, please come home.” Mummy begged, her hologram fading in and out as he travelled further from home.

“No, mummy.” Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t want to live on Holmes anymore. I don’t want to be a prince.”

“Oh, Sherlock…” Mummy sighed. It was an old argument of theirs.

“I love you very much, mummy, but I am finding a new planet to live on.” Sherlock told her, and he hung up before she could say anything else. Sherlock may have been only eight sun-cycles old, but he was already more intelligent than other boys his age.

They hated him for it.

So he was running away for good, and nothing anyone could say would stop him.

It was later in the day, at least, from what he could tell, when he came upon a strange looking planet. The majority of it was blue and it had white swirling around in its atmosphere. Under the white, Sherlock could catch tiny glimpses of green, and his curiosity got the better of him. He flew around the planet, deciding eventually to land on a smallish island just off the coast of a larger landmass. There was a large area of light near the south, and he avoided it, heading instead for darker areas.

Of course, he should have predicted that gravity worked different on this strange new planet. He expected it to have been stronger, so his pod-ship came crashing down in a loud bang.

Sherlock cursed, climbing out of the ship and inspecting it for damage. A few scratches curved along the front of the pod-ship, but otherwise, it seemed unharmed.

“Hello, is someone out here?” A voice calls, and Sherlock looks around, trying to find the source of the gibberish. There is a small house about a quarter of a macton away, and a small blond creature was coming towards his pod-ship.

He panicked, unsure what the creature was saying as it continued to blather on, looking for the source of the commotion. Sherlock snuck back into his pod-ship, turning on the translator so he could understand the creature. He then exited, running straight into the creature.

“Oh, hello there.” The creature said, his teeth bared in a friendly expression. Sherlock blinked at him, taking his appearance in. He didn’t look very different than the people of his planet. His hair was an odd yellow colour, and his face was rounder, but other than that, they could be of the same race. His father looked quite a bit like this creature, in fact, something that comforted him.

“Hello.” Sherlock replied, trying to replicate the facial greeting.

“My name is John, and I’m nine years old!” The creature named John stated happily. “What’s your name, and what is that thing?”

“My name is Sherlock, I am eight sun cycles.” He said. “And I am from the planet Holmes.”

“Does that mean you’re an alien?” John’s eyes widened.

“I suppose it does,” Sherlock replied warily. “But I live here now, so that means I’m not an alien anymore.”

“That is so _cool!”_ John said. “I’ve never met an alien before. I thought you would look weird, but you look normal.”

Sherlock felt momentarily stunned. This strange being was being…kind to him. It was something he was unused to, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Thank you, John.” He said after a second. “Though I am going to have to hide my pod-ship. I don’t want anyone stealing it.”

“You can hide it in the bushes.” John replied, and together they pushed the pod-ship into the bushes, arranging leaves around it to better conceal it.

“You can sleep in my room tonight.” John said after they finished, wiping his forehead.

“Why would you offer that?” Sherlock asked in confusion.

“Because you’re my friend, silly.”

“I am?”

“Of course!” John’s smile was infectious, and he grabbed Sherlock’s hand, tugging him towards the small dwelling. They were quiet as they walked inside, John leading him up a flight of stairs and into a tiny bedroom.

“You can have my bed.” John said, pulling out a blanket and a pillow, curling up on the floor.

Sherlock smiled at him, flopping down into the rectangle bed. “You are most hospitable.” He complimented.

John smiled at him, and Sherlock could see that he had no idea what ‘hospitable’ meant, but he found that he didn’t even care very much.

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, John. Sleep well.”

He didn’t care if John turned out to be dumb, he realised as he fell asleep. John could be the dumbest creature in the whole world, but Sherlock would protect him, because John was special.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the next day when Mycroft was sent to fetch him. John’s family had been absent, and the two boys spent the early morning and afternoon playing. Sherlock had never enjoyed childish games, but even he got the giggles when John pretended to ‘die’ dramatically while they played war. Mycroft saw everything, and seemed most amused.

“Really, Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice made Sherlock jump, and both boys turned to look at the boy who was fifteen sun cycles old. “I didn’t realise that you enjoyed such…trivialities.”

“What are you doing here, you great endoplasmic arse?” Sherlock growled, crossing his arms.

“I have come to bring you home.” Mycroft said, glancing over at John with disdain. “These creatures are primitive life forms. They would attempt to study you if they discovered what you were.”

“You mean like cut me open?” Sherlock asked in curiosity.

“That would be gross.” John giggled. “They won’t do that!”

“Naturally not. He’s coming home.” Mycroft said, flicking imaginary dust off his clothes.

“Can’t he stay just a bit longer?” John all but begged, looking at Mycroft imploringly.

“Certainly not.” Mycroft said. “You don’t want him to get in trouble, do you?”

John pouted, but he ran over to Sherlock, giving him a hug. “Please come back soon? I don’t want you to get in trouble, but maybe your mum and dad will let you visit again?”

“They have to.” Sherlock replied. “I shall miss you.”

“We’ll see each other soon.” John said, pulling away.

“Of course.” Sherlock said. “I will protect you. I promised.”

“When?”

“Last night, when you were asleep. You are my friend, and I will protect you.”

John hugged Sherlock again, his arms squeezing much harder this time. “Thank you, Sherlock. You are my best friend, okay?”

“You are my only friend.” Sherlock replied. A hand on the back of Sherlock’s shoulder gave a small tug, and all too soon he was being led back to a large ship, guided up the stairs by his annoying brother.

Sherlock made a beeline for a window, pressing against it as the ship took off. John waved, and Sherlock waved back, trying not to cry. He would see John soon, he just knew he would.

The questions was, would John see him?

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry too if you _forgot to update your fics for two freaking years..._

_Nine Sun cycles_

 

Obtaining a high power telescope is rather easy when one is the prince of a whole planet. Of course, he wasn't allowed to use it for a sun cycle as punishment for running away. The day he was allowed to use his new telescope, he spent all day searching the planet for his friend named John.

He had to wait until the planet was facing the right direction, and Sherlock had never been very patient. When it finally showed the familiar little island, he scoured the area, letting out a cry of joy when he saw the familiar house. 

John was playing outside by himself, the space pod that they had left covered in green grass. But John seemed to remember it was there, judging by the toys left around and on top of the pod. 

Sherlock smiled fondly at his friend before turning off his telescope for the night, pleased to see his friend once more. 

 

* * *

 

 

_16 Sun Cycles_

 

Eventually, watching John on his telescope wasn't enough. John was spending less time at his home, and more time with other humans. They spent time in strange buildings and kicking strange objects, and Sherlock's curiosity got the better of him. 

Sherlock "borrowed" a pod while his parents were resting, flying as fast as he could towards the little blue and green planet. It was only after he landed in front of John's house that he realised he hadn't checked to see where John was.

"Damn," Sherlock cursed, clipping his portable translator to his new human clothes. "An idiotic mistake."

He hid his pod behind the old one before making his way into town. Sherlock had been watching John for about 7 sun cycles now, and he knew John's favourite places to spend time.

He made his way towards the little town, peeking inside the various buildings for John. Not that he knew what he would do when he saw him, of course; he would figure it out as he went.

Sherlock finally found him in a small coffee shop on the corner, sitting next to a pretty brunette girl on a comfy sofa. John's arm was slung around her shoulders, and the way he was looking at her made Sherlock's stomach clench in the strangest way.

He watched as John said something in her ear, making her giggle. She hit his chest playfully, before standing up and excusing herself.

Sherlock waited until she was out of sight before entering the building, looking around at the other customers. 

He was so close to John, and he had no idea what to say to him. Really, the whole trip had been a useless endeavour. He was clearly much better off watching John from afar than trying to talk to him, and what had he been th-

"You okay?" a voice startled Sherlock out of his thoughts. "You look a little lost there."

John was looking over at him, a warm smile on his face. Sherlock blinked a few times in surprise, elation filling his sternum like a balloon. 

"Sorry, new in town," He answered at last, "I was debating on grabbing a coffee, but I realised I left my wallet at home."

"Come on, it's on me then," John said, pulling out his wallet.

"No, I really shouldn't-"

"I insist," John interrupted. "Least I can do."

John bought him some sugary, whipped concoction that was surprisingly delicious. By the time his drink was made, the girl was back and wrapped around John.

"So, where are you from?" John asked, ignoring the girl. "You look...well, _really_ familiar..."

"London," Sherlock said, listing the first city he could think of. "I'm pretty average looking...I have one of those faces."

"Yeah, no you don't," John snorted. "You have the face that anyone would remember."

Sherlock wondered if that was a good thing,

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, the girl storming off in a huff after Sherlock deduced her failing grades. John, it turned out, was an excellent rugby player, and he wanted Sherlock to come see him play. Sherlock told John that he was an excellent violinist, and that he wanted John to hear him play. When they parted that evening, it was in high spirits, and Sherlock was pleased at how well the evening had turned out. He snuck back to his pod later that night, taking off while John was still asleep. There were several missed holograms from his parents, and at least five just from Mycroft, but nothing could bring him down.

 

* * *

 

 

_Twenty eight Sun Cycles_

 

John was far away from home. For the past three Earth sun cycles, John had been in the middle of a large desert with a bunch of other people wearing the same uniform. They played with things that called guns, and people fell down never to stand up again.

Upon much study, Sherlock discovered that it was called a war. The last war on Holmes had been nearly three centuries before, and any guns that were owned were defunct, and put on display in museums. 

The whole charade was barbaric, and he had half a mind to pull John out of the whole situation. He had been unable to visit John these past three sun cycles as it was, and now he was actively trying to get himself killed. Sherlock hated every moment of it.

Before he could put his thoughts into action, Sherlock's worst fear came true. 

He was monitoring John's group of humans when he saw a different group starting to surround them. It was obvious that John's group was unaware of what was happening, and before Sherlock could do anything, they were shooting.

He watched with horror as John stooped down to help a friend, exposing himself to the gunfire. Before he could even move, John was on the ground, a spot of red spreading across his shoulder.

 

Obtaining a group of skilled healers is rather easy when one is prince of a whole planet.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Do you want to stop aliens from abducting innocent British soldiers? I'm not saying that following me on [tumblr](http://robottko.tumblr.com/) would help, but following me on tumblr would definitely help.


End file.
